


It Must Have Been the Mistletoe

by lullabelle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabelle/pseuds/lullabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not good with feelings. Sam tries to talk sense. Castiel fetches crackers. It's all very festive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Must Have Been the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Season 9, except that magically there are no major crises happening, and everyone's relatively happy. Originally posted to my tumblr.

"Dean."

"What?" Dean snapped, slamming the tube of raw cookie dough down on the table. He pulled his knife out of his pocket and considered it a moment before he put it back, and reached instead for the more kitchen appropriate fare from the knife block on the counter. "I’m baking, Sam. Go… _entertain_ or whatever.”

Instead of leaving Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “You hurt Cas’s feelings.”

"I did _not_ hurt his feelings.” Dean wouldn’t look at him, instead choosing to focus on slicing the cookie package without cutting too deeply into the dough. It was harder than it looked. When the silence between them stretched a moment too long, Dean finally looked up, gesturing dismissively with the knife. “He understands.”

Sam rolled his eyes so hard he might’ve seen the inside of his skull. “He _doesn’t_ understand. We just finished explaining mistletoe to him, and then you had to go and act like he was contagious.”

"Well, you obviously didn’t explain it very well or he’d know that two guys don’t… don’t…" He gestured again, a little more wildly. "Do that. With the mistletoe."

Sam stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Dean went back to ignoring him in order to pull a cookie sheet out from one of the lower cabinets.

"Okay, first off, some guys do. Do that. With the mistletoe. And secondly, he’d already seen Charlie and Jody—"

"Oh, come on! That was a cheek kiss. Cheek kisses don’t count.” He began slicing the cookie dough into uneven hunks, using more force than was necessary. No one would care if the cookies weren’t the same size.

"You could have gone for a cheek! No one was saying you had to make out with him." Sam sighed. "At the very least you could have been less douchey. He looks like a kicked puppy."

Dean winced a little. He’d seen the kicked puppy look on Cas before. He hated that look.

"Dean. You need to apologize to him."

"I maybe could have been nicer."

"A banishing sigil would have been nicer."

Dean made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Fine,” he grumped. “Go, send him in. Ask him to get something from the kitchen or… something.”

Sam’s face broke into a grin, and Dean was a little tempted to recant just because he hated giving his brother a reason to look so smug. “Will do.” He didn’t watch Sam leave, but he heard the muffled sound of the people in next room suddenly swell and recede as the door swung open and closed.

Dean took the opportunity to put his sheet of cookies in the oven. When door opened again, the sound of chatter was accompanied by Cas saying, “But don’t we already—” followed by Sam’s, “Jesus, Cas, just _go._ ”

And then Castiel was standing in front of him, just like Dean had asked, so he could apologize. Dean smoothed his palms down the front of his flannel, wondering when they’d gotten so sweaty.

"Sam asked me to get a sleeve of crackers. Even though there’s already one open, and he was just in here." Castiel cocked his head, eyebrows drawing together in a not-quite-frown. "Did you wish to speak to me?"

"Um, yeah… about before. The mistletoe." Castiel was standing just a little too close, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes, instead staring at the collar of Cas’s t-shirt while his brain desperately groped for the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. Better, he figured, to just keep simple. "I’m sorry."

"You’re sorry," Cas repeated. And Dean knew his face was still drawn in a not-frown, even though he wasn’t looking.

"Yes. I’m sorry."

After a beat, Cas said, “What are you sorry for?”

If it were anyone else, Dean might have accused them of being deliberately obtuse, but Cas just sounded curious. Two things that were consistent about Cas; he was always genuine, and he was always curious. “I’m sorry for making you feel rejected.”

"You don’t find me repulsive." It was a statement, not a question.

Except it might have been a question, so Dean said, “What? No. No, I don’t.”

He glanced up. Cas sometimes had a habit of standing too close but, well — he was _really_ close. His lips were really close.

"Good."

And then they were kissing, and Dean wasn’t sure who moved first. They might have moved together. It wasn’t a mistletoe kiss — it wasn’t a chaste touch of lips, or a ridiculous show for the benefit of a hooting audience — it was a kiss kiss. It was slow and warm and sincere. It reminded Dean, a little, of picking a lock, of slipping a bit of wire into a keyhole, a place where wire wasn’t necessarily meant to go, and moving it around deliberately until it clicked. He and Cas clicked. They were actively clicking.

Dean pulled away — slowly, to make sure Cas knew he wasn’t pulling away — enough that he could look him in the face, but he was still cupping his elbows (when did that happen?) and said, “You’re definitely not repulsive.” And they were going to have to talk later, because ‘not repulsive’ was a pretty low bar, and Dean’s feelings for Cas were significantly more positive than “not repulsive”. They were more along the lines of “fucking amazing.” And he’d known, before, but he hadn’t _known._ “We’ll talk later?”

Castiel, looking vaguely shell shocked, nodded slowly. “Yes. We’ll talk. Later.”

"Good. Um." Dean groped wildly at the counter behind him and produced a package of crackers. "Here. Give these to Sam. The cookies should be done in," he peered at the clock over Cas’s shoulder, "six minutes."

"Okay. I’ll — um. I’ll take these to Sam." Castiel said, and slowly pulled away.

When Cas was out of sight, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. His heart was jackrabbiting. From a kiss.

He grinned at the doorway Cas had just disappeared through. Friggin’ _mistletoe._


End file.
